


Careful what you wish for

by 3White_Mage3



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: M/M, Not Incest, not even close to "reality" with no intentions otherwise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-05
Updated: 2014-11-30
Packaged: 2018-01-07 14:04:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,477
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1120729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/3White_Mage3/pseuds/3White_Mage3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Herc is rubbing one out during a 3-day desert getaway to find his inner balance again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> With special thanks to jujitsuelf. She is the "ev" to my "il" as we plot to take on the PR fandom. Hopefully, you PR fans will appreciate this as it unfolds.

"If you keep rubbing that fuckin' thing you're gonna go blind and grow hair on your palms."

Herc dropped the bottle he had dug out of the ground while he was pitching his tent. He had left the Shatterdome for three days to go clear his head in the Outback, something he had long needed. And now he found himself ass down on the ground with sand creeping into the crack of his behind staring at a young, shirtless man with too much jewelry and...pantaloons?

"I wasn't rubbing it. And who are you anyway?"

"If you hadn't been rubbing it, I wouldn't be here right now, would I? And I'll bet that's what the tissue box beside your bed says every night, yeah?"

The soldier shook his head, mentally vowing to forego scotch from now on -- or at least add water when drinking it until 4 in the morning. "Yeah, you're a real poster boy for manliness, you are. Scare the piss right out of me. What are those? Silk trousers? And are those panties or a speedo underneath?"

The young man went flaming red in an instant, no surprise given his completely ginger appearance -- ginger hair on his head, freckles dappled all over his shoulders and chest, and, Herc couldn't help noticing, what looked to be soft ginger hair defining a trail leading from his navel on down into those...panties? 

"Diaphanous silk, you caveman. The fabric of emperors. Second stall on the right once you enter the central market in Marrakesh. Half price on Tuesdays, by the way."

"Ummm, good to know next time I'm in Marrakesh on a Tuesday and looking for see-through trousers. Bet those emperors didn't produce many heirs, know what I mean? Kind of a leading indicator for end of a dynasty and all, I would think."

"..." 

"So you're supposed to be what, a genie or something?"

"It's amazing you've lived this long with that kind of acuity, old man. What are you, like 45 or something?" as the younger man raked his eyes approvingly over Herc's shirtless torso.

Herc felt his own face flame and replied, "I'm 40, you shit," as his left hand reached inside the tent and sought out the t-shirt he had discarded earlier so he could put it back on. "Aren't I supposed to get three wishes then?"

"Yes, it's my unfortunate but necessary duty..." Pausing, the genie looked up toward the sky and groaned out to someone or something unseen, "All right, all right, Stacker," before continuing. "It is my distinct honor to offer you three wishes. Anything you wish for can be yours. Your heart's desire is my command. Blah, blah. Blah, blah."

Herc snorted, "That's easy, lamb shanks. I wish for a hundred more wishes."

"You can't wish for more wishes, old man. So obvious. AND against the rules. And 'lamb shanks'? What the fuck?"

"Is sex, drugs and rock n roll one wish?" 

"..."

"Again with the eye rolling! Really? Is that supposed to be a genie super weapon or something? If it is, excuse me while I go change my shorts."

"Can we get on with this so I can grant you your three wishes and I can get out of here?"

"What, big tea dance on Fire Island this afternoon?"

"Oh, keep 'em coming, arse wipe. Centuries of bullshit and this is how I'm supposed to enter my twenties? Can we please now get down to business so I can vamoos? Then you can crawl into your little tent here in the desert and drink yourself to sleep again tonight thinking about all the things you could've had."


	2. The first of the 3 wishes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chuck is the proverbial genie from the bottle, brought forth (giggle) by Herc stroking one out. The bottle, people, the bottle!  
> Chapter One was intended as humorous/snarky (don't know how well I succeeded on that) while this chapter is intended as the bridge before we get to something more meaningful, and ultimately sexy times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cause this all started from a lust-filled chat about the idea of Chuck Hansen shirtless and in harem pants.

"So, three wishes, huh?"

"Yeah, three wishes. Pretty sure we've been over this already, yeah? You rub it, I come, and you get three wishes."

When the older man started leering the young, shirtless genie flushed a deep pink all the way to the waistband of his harem pants. Herc noticed, earning him a snark from the genie, "Yeah, never heard that one before, perv. Keep your mind out of the gutter so I can get back to the celestial kasbah in time for 2 for 1 drinks until midnight and you can get back to the bottle of scotch you crawled out of this morning."

For the first time since meeting the arsewipe-attitude genie, Herc put some serious contemplation into these supposed three wishes which were his. "I'm thinking immortality."

Chuck, being the mature considered genie with the bright and positive attitude which got him continually in trouble in the great genie home in the clouds, rolled his eyes dramatically and replied, "Again with the originality. First of all, 45 is a bit old ..."

"40, you cunt. We've talked about this," the older man interrupted.

"Fine, whatever, old man. Let's agree on 40 ish. Point is, it's still a bit late to be wishing on 'immortality'." At which point the genie -- already a walking, talking cliche in Herc's estimation -- even did the universal air quotes gesture. "Besides, in all seriousness, that one never turns out well. Wouldn't recommend it. Eventually involves religious symbols, wooden stakes and, gak, mandatory black clothing."

"Ohhh, you care, little ginger. Awww."

"Yeah. No. Just saying you'd look like shit in a black turtleneck. Now hand me that booze before you end up emptying it and having to waste one of your wishes on another bottle of scotch. And I'm not little." 

"Well, drink up little ginger genie. I'm sure there's a party starting on Mykonos with your name on it and I'd hate for you to be late to say hi to Liza and Cher." 

Chuck took a long swig and handed the booze to his client of the moment. "Yeah, whatever. Date yourself much? Try Kylie and Ru, like maybe. Let's move this along before you become so maudlin I'm here all night listening to your shit. How about Pope? You wanna be Pope?" 

"... Nope to the Pope." 

"Queen of England? Bad hats, great dogs?"

Herc took another huge swig of the scotch and passed the bottle before leaning back to take a long, considered look at the strangely endearing creature in front of him and replied, "You really want to know what I want?" Given the lack of response he continued, "I want my life back. I want Angela. I want the whole Sydney disaster to have never happened and for my wife and unborn child to be with me, right here right now. Healthy and happy instead of a flashmark on a crumbling wall somewhere downtown waiting to be torn down and rebuilt as a shopping mall. Can you do that for me, boy? Can you give me back what I lost?" 

The younger man's eyes softened. "No, Herc, I can't do that for you. No one can. Death is immutable, even for us genies. I truly am sorry." 

And then realizing that he was starting to care a bit too much about his latest assignment he added, "Hey, hold on, old timer. You're straight? In every video I've watched pervy old soldiers like you running around shirtless in the outback always end up fucking each other or the young innocent lieutenant or a poor Afghani goat or something. They're never straight-straight." (Again with the air quotes, Herc noted with resignation.) "Sure straight as in I-never-take-it-up-the-ass straight but not straight as in don't-knock-it-til-you've-tried-it. Know what I mean, jelly bean?" 

Herc took a deep swig out of his seemingly bottomless bottle of scotch and answered quite earnestly, "I can honestly say I have no idea what you mean. Now are you going to put a shirt on or not?"


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Change in tense, by the way. Intentional.  
> Also, change in mood. Snark gives way to something else, perhaps the beginning of something more meaningful.

"So you asking to be my Afhani goat?" Herc leered as he tossed his tshirt aside and, leaning backwards, flexing his biceps and making his red-haired pecs bounce .

Pulling his eyes away from that display of masculinity, Chuck stood there, literally astounded for the first time in decades. He had to admit the last time he could remember being so flummoxed by another's cluelessness was when he had heard through the genie celestial grapevine that Maggie Thatcher had sent Idi Amin a state gift basket of condiments including selected British mustards. Here he thought he was giving off enough "take me, I'm yours" pheromones to breed the first colony on Mars. Apparently he was wrong and if there's one thing he'd always told his friends this genie doesn't do well it's rejection. Not that that had ever been an issue for centuries. Just saying. 

Chuck had thought there, just for a few fleeting minutes, that perhaps after all these centuries of being used and tossed aside when the three wishes were over that he might have found a kindred spirit, someone with whom he could form a bond. Someone to whom he could give comfort and perhaps receive something in return. He thought he sensed something in this man. Someone with whom he might form a bond, not just physical but something emotional. Something real. But apparently not. And maybe the world needs to be reminded that Chuck doesn't do rejection well.

"No," he sputtered, "No, I'm not going to be your ovine catamite and no, I'm not going to put my shirt on. I'll have you know princes and emperors have lusted over this auburn-sprinkled, gold-flecked pallet of six-packedness. You need to appreciate that poems have been written about my small perky nipples. My ass has launched a thousand ships, as one author famously misquoted."

Herc realized that he was starting to find the discomfited, over-compensating, very definitely strangely attired young man somewhat endearing. At the same time he realized - maybe it was the scotch, maybe it was just too many years of casual flings with both men and women across the six continents and a whole lot of emptiness after Angela died and taken their unborn baby with her - that the burgeoning warm feeling this strange little person gave him wasn't automatically a bad thing. The rational side of him admitted that, to be fair, the genie held all the cards. There wasn't much someone like that needed from a "40-ish" tired, worn out soldier who had seen too much and laughed too little for too long.

And yet Herc noted that said genie didn't seem in too much of a rush to flit away in a puff of glitter or fairy dust or whatever it is that those people do to signal a dramatic exit. 

"Can we talk about those thousand ships and your ass? Are you sure you weren't playing cabin boy to the Seventh Fleet?"

The look on Chuck's face was more than enough to make Herc regret his attempt at levity.

"Okay. Yeah. Given all that, what if I said that I wish for a night with you? Right here in this tent, me giving it to you so hard you're wondering if those stars are real or whether I was just making you see them?" 

Seeing the genie's hesitation and concerned by the strange, somewhat twisted look on his face Herc continued, "You did say that I can have anything I wish for, right?"

It didn't take a total genius - which Herc had never professed to be, he was at the end of a day a soldier - to figure out that the tenor of this conversation had changed dramatically.

Herc decided to take a risk, "What if I asked for the chance to make love to you all night long? If you truly wanted to, I mean."


	4. Perspective

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Any more questions? Because otherwise you wouldn't need to use one of your wishes to make love to me, Herc.

When the genie stilled and went silent, Herc responded by grabbing his shirt and pulling it on quickly, much to Chuck's surprise and regret at seeing all that gorgeous red fur and those muscles disappearing. "Yeah, I've got nothing to offer someone who's probably been with the most famous, richest, powerful, whatever it is that gets you genies' panties in a wad." 

Chuck settled himself alongside the soldier, stretching himself sinuously out along the full length of the man's body while he took the bottle of scotch and put it off to the side, out of reach. "Let me tell you about those someones you're already measuring yourself against." And as he glanced purposely down the span of Herc's body, the genie leaned in and whispered in the Australian's ear, "from what I can see already, you've got NOTHING to worry about in terms of measuring up, sailor boy."

"Air Force! Not Navy. RAAF, you cunt."

"Whatever," Chuck moaned as he crawled on top of Herc. "Don't care whether it flies through the sky or swims through the ocean," the last part accentuated with a thrust of his hips down and right across Herc's obvious hard on. "So, to make you feel better, Julius liked to be spanked and called "Princess'. That bitch took it from every member of the Praetorian Guard and I can assure you the ONLY thing he saw in Cleopatra was the jewelry. Next?"

Herc thought for a bit, trying to not be too obvious, "Peter the Great".

"Decent guy in general, but really bad breath and a case of out-of-control smegma like you wouldn't believe. When he rubbed in to the Genie Hotline asking for a second date I called in sick and had the dispatcher send Raleigh instead. Little blonde genie bitch was always so smug that he was screwing his gorgeous brother. Well, I would've loved to have seen that genie's face as he went down on that cheese pole." 

"Yokay," as Herc smirked. "Napoleon."

"Yep. Been there. Done that. All I got was a lousy hat with some weird flower on it. No resale value on eBay. But yeah, small dick. No surprise to anyone there. Had a too-tight foreskin so he couldn't get completely hard and that's probably much to Poland's regret. Not a cuddler."

"Lawrence of Arabia."

"Ha! Biggest slut in North Africa. Would take it from anything on two legs and a camel. Last I heard "she" was getting a tramp stamp tattooed in Tripoli. And let me tell you that's the marketing equivalent of trying to sell beer at the Superbowl." 

"Anyone you did like?" Herc asked. 

"Yeah, met this guy in a bar in the Sinai way back when, don't remember the year. Some kind of expat, from what he told me. Could've been great. He loved redheads -- not that I'm a redhead," as the genie blushed crimson. "But he had these weird stone tablets. Like his top ten favorite yoga positions or something he couldn't stop blathering on about. Was totally cool except he kept feeling my ass and talking about parting the Red Sea and then wraggling his eyebrows. Kinda creeped me out after a while."

Chuck looked down at Herc, "any more questions? Because otherwise you wouldn't need to use one of your wishes to make love to me, Herc. If you still wanted to."


End file.
